


we remain standing

by goodmourning



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, School Shootings, Violence, first fanfic [sweats]
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmourning/pseuds/goodmourning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does the tint of a flower matter when a gun is staring at you? (modern au margaery/sansa)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shelbyeverdeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelbyeverdeen/gifts), [Gianna_linn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gianna_linn/gifts).



A trembling boom, the glance of a bullet, sparkling glass, the scent of dying flowers.

 

People believe that before the kiss of death, a person sees their entire lives flash before their eyes.  Frankly, that was bullshit.

 

When the blaring clamor of compact metal shuttering window glass rang throughout the school, the truth in Sansa’s mind did not depict her lifespan at all.  One might say it was because she didn’t die, but she could easily have by twenty meters.  The shooter aimed at room 705, the environmental science classroom.  A slight shift and they’d have hit the chemical lab, two rooms away, and then Sansa would really have been in trouble.  But let’s not bother over could-have-beens or what-ifs.  There is one truth, one reality, and humans should mind over nothing else.  Questions of what could have happened and what did not don’t belong to the living.

 

The three seconds of shock that froze the people inside the lab transpired in what seemed like years.  The most prominent thought racing through Sansa’s mind was whether Margaery’s thick flowery perfume and brown curls would be the last of her memories alive.

 

Not her father, or her lovely mother.  Not her brothers, or sister, not even her dog, Lady.   _Margaery._

 

Soon, three seconds passed, and Sansa was slapped back into the world.

 

_A shooting_ , she realized, _we’re in the middle of a shooting._

 

Screams of terror roared from outside the school door, mingled with heavy footsteps and cries.  Margaery ran to the door leading to the hall as Sansa covered her mouth with her hands, heart still racing and legs trembling.  She felt useless, watching Margaery lock the door, turn off the lights, drape cloth on the small opening below the door with shaky hands.  And all Sansa was doing was lose her breath, clutch her chest.

 

_My brother_ , her heart said, _my sister_.  A harsh, silent sob left her lips, as soft as a kitten’s mewl, but thick with sentiment.  She didn’t know what to do.  Another bullet rang through the air and she let out a ferocious yell.

 

The day began when a stupid science project saved her life.

 

Sansa and Margaery were partners for the biggest assignment of the school year.  They had to do the usual cliche task: make a science fair project that isn’t an exploding volcano.

 

They opted for chemically color changing flowers.  Add coloring to the water in a flower’s vase and see if it absorbs the hue.  They’d spent the last weekend trimming many carnation stems in half, sitting in Margaery’s living room.  Half of a stem would go into red tinted water, half in blue tinted water.

 

Moments before the first bullet flew from the gun, Sansa had been inspecting three neat rows of colored carnations.  Half red, half blue petals.   _My eyes, my hair_ , she’d thought, _and the green of the stem is Margaery._

 

_Margaery and Sansa, Margaery and Sansa_ , the flowers sang.  Sansa brushed the thought quickly away, blushing at the discrepancy her thoughts had with what she was supposed to be doing, recording data into her lab report.

 

As if the time it took for the color to absorb mattered half a minute later.

 

Does the tint of a flower matter when a gun is staring at you?

 

Next to her, Margaery caressed the petals with the tips of her fingers and stretched them lightly to spray them with water.  Six carnations, ready to be sprinkled, heavy with color pigments.  Six flowers that saved her life.

 

“Mr. Cooper, can Sansa and I go water our plants?  We’re done with the video questions and they haven’t been watered over the weekend.”

 

If Margaery hadn’t uttered those two sentences, they’d still be sitting in their seats, two rows apart, facing a large projection showcasing the end credits of Planet Earth’s documentary on whales.  Sansa would be texting her sister harsh words about not taking her lead pencils again, they’re the only ones she had.  Margaery, what would Margaery be doing?  Talking to the girl next to her, most likely, helping her with the questions on the assignment paper sheet, chatting away in room 705.

 

Six carnations, red and blue, on the floor, surrounded by dirt and water.  Margaery had accidentally toppled the cardboard box they were in over the counter when the bullet rang and she jumped.  Now she was kneeling, tugging Sansa down with her, and shakily tried to snuggle under the nearest damn table.  A third bullet pierced the air and this time Margaery had to cover her mouth to keep a strong scream from fighting its way out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The weight of Sansa enveloped Margaery’s left arm and leg, even a part of her hip.  Her right hand still cemented her mouth shut, willing the screams she wanted to unleash to stay inside, hard in her throat.  The ginger shook violently against her.

 

Still, unmoving.  Afraid to speak, to breathe, willing their blood to flow slower so it won’t make such noise.  Four grams of compact metal, making thousands of people afraid of living.

 

Above them, the school clock ticked away, as loud as cannons.

 

“...Margaery.”

 

The brunette’s head rapidly snapped back to the ginger, unsure of whether to shush her or burst out crying.  Instead, she stared at the Stark’s face with wide brown eyes, fearful, an uncanny resemblance to a deer in headlights.  An electric shock ran down her body, burning through her nerves.  Adrenaline, she thought, it’s just adrenaline.  Her lab partner gazed back at her with tears down her cheeks, trembling like a chihuahua.

 

Margaery stretched out her left arm from under Sansa and wrapped it, quivering, around the junior’s shoulders.  Sansa welcomed the gesture, molding her body into Margaery’s, hoping to calm the blazing nerves in her body, the thunderous beats of her heart.

 

“My family”, she weakly mumbled, and her face contorted, lips curving down, eyes, closing and releasing more tears. She hiccuped and let out a cry.

 

“Shhhh”, Margaery crooned, to both herself and Sansa. Her attempt at brushing away stray ginger hairs failed when her hands vibrated with anxiety, doing nothing but worsening the situation. Curving her hand into a fist instead, she cursed herself for not putting a stronger front in such a situation, where she was responsible for someone younger than her.  No, not someone. Sansa Stark.  They knew each other well enough to be more than just “someone”.  She had to be strong, for Sansa.  Even if every damn atom in her body screamed at her to be selfish, to be afraid, to let her eyes bleed tears and allow the vulnerability she so well hid to finally show.  No, she told herself, you are not afraid.  You are in danger, but you are not afraid.

 

“D-Do you think I can t-text them?”

 

“No”, Margaery replied as softly as she could.  She pressed Sansa into her, hugging her with both arms, pulling her towards her body.  “If you text them, their cellphones might make noise and give them away to the shooter.  Don’t turn on your cellphone either, it will probably light up with calls and messages.”  She pressed a kiss into the ginger’s hair, trying to soften the wound of isolation from her family. Margaery could see herself in that place, with two siblings trapped in the school while a hungry gun searched for them outside.  The thought made her spine curve and she was suddenly glad all her brothers were grown and graduated and away.

 

Sansa was vehement.  She slowly stopped being a creature of blood and bone.  Every bullet had slowly filled her veins with dread, her very bones turned to trepidation.  This is happening.  It’s true and real, and it’s happening right here, right now.  Her arms wrapped tightly around the warmth of her partner, fingers digging viciously into Margaery’s green shirt.  Deep inside her, a voice chuckled.  Of course you’d be stuck in the room with no teacher, it boomed, which is only slightly better than those trapped alone in the restrooms.

 

She wondered if Arya was stuck alone in a restroom, if Robb hid under a desk or locked the door of the boy's locker rooms.

 

Perhaps they were both lying still, out in the open, with glassy eyes and unmoving hearts.

 

 _No_ , she willed herself to push those thoughts away, _no, they are both trembling in a classroom, hot and shiny and fearful but alive._

 

Ominous silence surrounded the school.  Nothing but the Tyrell girl's heart against her ear and soft breathing above her head gave any signs of life.  The quiet filled her marrow the same way it filled that class, making the ticks of the clock resemble the booms of the bullets that flew through the air not long before. Afraid of breaking the silence, and terrified of luring the shooter with her softest of whispers, the Stark girl remained soundless until the words basically plummeted out of her mouth, fighting to be free.

 

"What are we going to do", Sansa whispered into Margaery's neck.  She pressed her nose to the girl's clavicle, breathing in her perfume.  Honestly, she was glad that out of all people she was stuck with Margaery Tyrell, the sweet girl.  They met not long ago, but already Sansa felt herself loving Margaery more and more each day.  Now, with their lives in danger, the elder tethered her to the ground, slowed her heart, gave her a sense of comfort.  She still didn't know how that was possible, but as she pressed her face into her, brown curls caressing her cheeks, she felt nurtured.

The senior was thrown off by the question, unsure herself of the directions she had to follow. You see, she hadn't exactly participated in many school shootings as to know. Still, she stretched her lips into an unsteady but nonetheless reassuring smile and pulled Sansa even tighter, if possible, into her. "We stay put and don't move a muscle. Don't you worry. These are school grounds, after all. There's security everywhere, you see, so in no time they will catch the shooter", she let her cheek rest on blood red hair, "and we will soon be out of this laboratory and safe at home."

 

Outside, the shooter knelt, aimed, and shot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is my weakest chapter pls forgive

Bullet number four hit the glass of the room next to the lab, 704. Its yell resonated on the walls, traveling quickly to where the girls quivered under a table. Sansa's legs shot back and she screamed savagely into a green shirt, while Margaery jumped so high her head hit the table and water sprang from her eyes. Their hearts stopped. The Tyrell teen fought back tears and covered her mouth once again, moaning into her palm.

 

"We have to move!", Sansa half wept, and Margaery didn't argue.  They scrambled to their feet with hearts about the explode in their chests. In three seconds, they were out of the table and at the other side of the room, pushing on the door that lead not to the hallway, but to the class next door.

 

What an idiot I've been, Margaery thought, trembling alone in an empty lab when we could've gone into this stupid classroom. She soon ate her words when the door proved to be locked.

 

"It won't open!", she half cried, half whispered, and Sansa almost fainted.  Her heart skipped a beat, two, it stopped altogether and then started racing again with fervor.

 

"We have to use the hallway door then!"

 

Margaery's body snapped around with eyes wide and brows high. "Are you out of your _goddamn mind_?"

 

Without hesitation or time to waste, Sansa clutched the brunette's hand and tugged her towards the other door. "The bullets hit the windows, meaning the shooter's outside. Margaery, he won't hurt us if we're in the hall!"

 

The brunette must have believed her because she showed no restraint as they burst out of the cursed lab and ran like they'd never ran before towards the gym.

 

Sansa spoke true. The hallway was as empty and cold as a crypt.  They didn't bother with trying to get into classrooms they swept by, they knew the doors wouldn't open.  Besides, they both felt safer with the promise of two metal doors that led to the locker rooms, protecting them from the ravenous gun.

 

Sansa wondered how she'd gotten here, running towards a gymnasium with death at heels and Margaery Tyrell panting next to her.  This was absolutely the worst time to have an existential crisis but damnit she was running for her life towards a smelly locker room so she might as well.  She'd been a good girl, as good as it could get. She obeyed her parents's every order like she'd been taught to do, and never let a moment pass without showing a lady's courtesy.  Hell, she was a part of the choir in her church.

 

Margaery pushed the doors of the gym open and the sight of a polished floor and colored bags containing basketballs gave her relief. Sweat has began to form in the back of her neck, making her brown thick hair stick to it.  Her jeans seemed to grow tighter each second that passed.

 

They dashed to the other side of the big gym, where a nice, big metal door would greet them.  Sansa willed her legs to move faster, her lungs to breathe harder.

 

The gymnasium was vast and green, with bleachers at the far right, concealing the precious locker room door they ran towards.  Adjacent to the bleachers wall, on the farthest side of the room, were two big and broad exits to the outside, hopefully locked.  The girls bolted in that direction, praying the shooter was out of bullets, getting arrested by a SWAT team, anything but heading to the gym, to their beloved women’s lockers.

 

Nearing the bleachers, they heard the rattling of the exit door closest to them, and tripped.  Margaery ran into Sansa and toppled them both to the ground, their cheeks meeting shiny and squeaky wooden floors.  

 

“Is someone in there? Please, open the door!” Knock knock knock.

 

The Stark girl landed on her right arm, shooting up painful shocks from her fingers to her clavicle.  She grimaced.  Margaery’s knees throbbed with agony, but she gave no regard to it and jumped to her feet.

 

“I heard you running, open the fucking door!”

 

Joffrey Baratheon’s voice was high-pitched, whimpery, always sounding like he was about to yell for his mother or call you a profanity.  His fists slapped on the gym doors, louder this time now that he’d heard footsteps inside.

 

If there was a single person who deserved to die, in truth, it was the Baratheon boy.  Son of the city’s mayor, he behaved as if he were untouchable, superior.  If the rich-arrogant-wealthy-boy cliche developed a living entity, it would be Joffrey.  He wore his pride like an ill-fitting suit, an undeserved honor.  When Sansa caught his eye back in freshman year, he’d cornered her at a party and asked her to date him.  Her cold, crude response led to two and a half years of torment, of cat calls in the streets, and groping in the cafeteria line.  Sansa wasn’t a person to use the word hate often but she definitely hated Joffrey Baratheon.

 

_Knock knock knock._ “Open the door already!”

 

Feet frozen, the girls stared at the pounding door, then at each other.  Margaery’s eyes said _Don’t let him in_.  Sansa stared back blankly.   _Why not?_ The stirring outside the building softened and they heard what might have passed as crying.

 

"Please, why won't you let me in?”

 

_Because you’re a bully._

 

_Because you treat women like your dogs._

 

_Because you only saw value in my looks._

 

_Because you’re ignorant, insensitive,  and vile._

 

_Because you’re despicable._

Sansa’s every cell screamed to leave him out to rot, to disregard her compassion.  But she couldn’t.  To think of Sansa as a person who’d place someone’s life in danger was unthinkable.  She was a creature of forgiveness, the personage of sympathy.  Her blood was made of warmer stuff. Her feet took her three steps closer to the door, hand outstretched.

 

And her hand was slapped away, her body pushed in the direction of the lockers by the warmth of Margaery Tyrell.

 

“What are you _doing_?”, Sansa angrily whispered, meekly trying to get free of her partner’s grip.

 

Margaery’s soft hands enveloped her torso, heaved her away.  Sansa’s movements made her hair jerk in the air, land on Margaery’s face.  The senior spit out the ginger hair in her mouth and kept tugging the girl.  “He’s not worth it Sansa!  The shooter will hear the door opening, he will hear us, he will come.  Just leave him, it’ll be okay, just leave him, he’ll be fine, come with me, please.”

 

Rambling stumbled out of her mouth as Sansa quit struggling and slapped her hands on fine metal.  She vigorously wrenched the doorknob until it opened.

 

_He’ll be fine_ , Margaery told herself.   _Nothing will happen to him._ Her heart beat fast as she questioned what pushed her into leaving Joffrey outside.  The Tyrell had felt as if her consciousness had switched, made a 180 turn.  The animalistic side of her, the one that willed her to survive, was taking over her, controlling her legs, moving her arms, speaking with her voice.  It told her to hide, to run, the protect Sansa with closed fists.   _Surviving like an animal, rather than a human._

 

Outside, Joffrey wept and yelled and pounded harder on the door until he saw its uselessness and ran in a different direction.

 

_He’ll be fine._

 

That evening, he’d be found quickly, bleeding against the school’s fence, a bullet on stomach.  His eyes saw nothing.

  
The girls pushed into the locker room and slammed the door shut behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

_She left him out_ , Sansa’s heart said, _she left him out with a shooter when she could’ve easily opened the door._

 

They hastily set the lock.  It made a sweet clicking sound and they let deep sighs of relief drift up like smoke from a cigarette.  A tremendous weight lifted off their chests.   _It’s too late now to go back_ , she thought.

 

Was it though?  Was it really too late to turn around, unlock the door, run to the wide wicked door and push it open? And then...what?  He’d get in the girl’s locker rooms with them?  At that thought, Sansa felt less guilty about the act but remorse still clung to the pit of her stomach.

 

Margaery’s hands trembled as she walked to the second door to the warm room.  A small hallway sandwiched between two doors made a path to the locker rooms, the walls adorned with calendars and schedules, pictures of games and ribbons.  The colorful surroundings contrast heavily with the stark grimness of the scene. Even their clothes, Margaery’s vibrant green shirt and Sansa’s light blue sundress appeared out of place.   _We don’t belong here._

 

Guilt gnawed at Margaery’s abdomen, consuming her flesh, unsteadying her hand as she turned the second handle.  It didn’t budge.  She sighed and pressed her forehead against the cool metal.  She willed the image of Joffrey to leave her head and tried to concentrate in the problem at hand.

 

“It’s locked.”

 

The words dropped into Sansa like a heavy stone. “No”, she whispered, and tried the door herself, in vain.

 

“Help me. We’ll tug the handle together.”

 

“What if we break it?”

 

“This is metal, Margaery, I doubt we’re that strong.”

 

“Then what makes you think we’re strong enough to open it?”

 

Sansa closed her eyes and let her head fall back.  With temples ablaze and nerves about to start a fire in her heart she whispered, a little annoyed, “Let’s just. Try.”

 

Tendons in the ginger’s neck stood out, stretching, trying to ease the tension inside.  Margaery decided to not push things and placed both hands on the handle, lifting her right foot to the wall for leverage.  Sansa’s smooth pale hands enveloped her own.  The warmth of their joined hands made the adrenaline rushing through her body worsen.

 

“What if it doesn’t open?”

 

“Then we’ll just stay here in the hall, crouch low where they won’t see us”, Sansa brushed some stray hairs out of her face, over her shoulder.

 

“Okay, tug!”

 

The girls pulled on the handle, faces growing red, fingers stretching and hardening. Margaery’s leg pushed her back, joints about to burst.

 

And then the door swung open, propelling them to the wall with great force.  Cold stone meets the back of Margaery’s skull, releasing a sickening crunch, and her vision darkened slowly.

 

A warm hand, copper hair, eyes the color of a cloudy sky, a bird made of metal, and the world goes black.

 

“Oh my God”

 

Sansa leaped to her feet, cradling Margaery’s head, when a familiar voice sparked up her system, made her turn around and look into familiar gray eyes.

 

“ _Sansa_ ”, her sister said, kneeling next to her, shocked.  Sansa is rooted in her place, neither hugging Arya not tending to her injured partner.  Warm arms surrounded her, tightening her lungs, willing them to breathe, and at last, Sansa lets out a cry and hugs her sister back with her free arm.

 

“ _Arya_ , oh my God, thank God, thank God...” she mumbled into her hair speaking nonsense to a God she knew her sister didn’t believe in.  Still,  a hundred pounds of bricks were lifted off her chest, and her heart flew with joy.

 

“Sansa, you’re so _stupid_ ”, Arya cried suddenly, letting go of the ginger, but before she could speak, Sansa was on Margaery.  She shook her, brushed hair off her face, checked for breathing. “Sansa, how could you just run out there with a shooter outside? You dumb cow, you stupid girl! Um...” Arya stood and placed herself on the opposite side of Margaery, lifting the brunette’s upper body into a sitting position, “Is she breathing?”

 

“Yes”, her sister replied, heart at her throat.  When she ran her fingers through soft brown curls they came back sticky and red.

 

“Oh Christ. Arya, she’s hurt. _Arya_.” Shoving her bloody hand in the gray-eyed girl’s face, Sansa let a childish whine escape her throat. _This is not happening. This is NOT happening_. Margaery’s lungs worked steadily, but her beautiful brown eyes were closed shut, eyelashes grazing the top of her cheeks.  The brown turned to amber in the hot white light of the hallway.  But no matter how pretty or peaceful she looked, Sansa willed her to come back, to open her eyes, to look at her and never leave again.

 

“Help me get her into the lockers, the teacher’s office has medicine inside.”

 

Arya’s voice sounded as if a thousand leagues of water lay between them. Faint, morphed, barely reaching her ears.  Sansa got a hold of Margaery’s head and torso, with Arya lifting the legs and opening the door further to all three squeeze in.

 

“Where were you guys? What happened?” the small girl questioned, directing them towards a bench where they could lie Margaery down. “Dany and I were showering when we heard the shots and by the time we got out…”

 

“Dany?” Sansa absentmindedly commented.  Cautiously, she guided Margaery’s body and head to balance on a thick bench, blood-covered hands still shaking vigorously.

 

“What’s going on?”, a soft voice said from behind. Wiping the blood on her pale blue dress, giving little care anymore, she turned and found piercing violet eyes boring into her.  What caught her attention first was the color of her eyes, then the wet, bleached white hair that adorned the girl’s face.  She was short and slim, with clear skin and curvy legs.  “Jesus Christ” she said at the sight of an unconscious Margaery on the bench and stains as red as Sansa’s hair decorating the icy dress she wore.

 

“Go get the medicine kit from the office”, Arya ordered.  Towels already in hand, she gestured at her sister to gently turn and lift the senior’s head to wipe off the blood.  From here, Sansa was lost, and all she could do was flinch at the wound festering amidst a forest of sweet-smelling brown hair.  Tears filled her eyes and she shakily asked how she could help.

 

“Don’t worry”, Daenerys Targaryen said from behind her.  A wide blue bag was in her arms, filled with bottles containing weirdly-named liquids and ointments. “I took Sports Medicine class last semester.”

 

 _But you’re a child_ , Sansa wanted to say, but swallowed her words instead, lodging them into her throat.  Margaery’s life depended on whatever knowledge Dany had and being odious about it would definitely not help.  Instead, the Stark girl wiped her tears and took her place behind Margaery, cradling her body like a child, giving support as her sister and the strange white haired girl cleaned and bandaged her gash.

 

Whatever they were doing seemed to work, because the bleeding stopped, but Margaery still gave out a little whine when they poured hydrogen peroxide on her lesion.  Covering her mouth didn’t keep the throaty cry inside Sansa, and new tears sparkled in her eyes.  Pity took place in the eyes of her sister and Dany, but they were kind enough to not look at her and focus on the injured girl.

 

Fifteen minutes transpired in hard silence, with no bullets piercing the air, and for that small blessing the girls were grateful.  Margaery’s head lay heavily on Sansa’s lap, as heavy as the stone at the bottom of her belly, gnawing at her stomach lining.  It was Sansa’s turn to take care of the girl now, as Margaery had back in the classroom, wrapping her in warm arms and soft kisses in her hair.

 

“Margaery and I were in the chemical lab when the first shots fired”, she whispered.  “The bullets...they were very close and the third one hit the room next door so...we ran. We were alone, too.”

 

Arya took a place on the floor leaning on the locker behind her.  Gray eyes met hers.  Daenerys sat at the end of the bench, placing the Tyrell girl’s legs on her lap for them both to fit. “Arya and I were called to some meeting in the library in the middle of P.E. so the teacher let us inside to shower and get our stuff.  We were the only ones here when the...shooter um, fired.”

 

Silence grew around them like an ocean, filling their lungs, suffocating their bodies.  Daenerys twirled her hair in her hands and absentmindedly began braiding it.  White hair curled and took shape.  Staring at the plait, Sansa tried to imagine what could have happened had it not been for her sister, for Dany.  If Arya hadn’t been there, and it was the short stranger alone in the locker rooms, would she have opened? Would she have shown the girls compassion as Sansa wanted, or lay her head against the wall and turned away, like Margaery tugged her, tugged her away from Joffrey?

 

Long pale fingers ran through Margaery’s curls, softly brushing them.  The Stark loved the shine in the brown hair, the scent of flowers drifting up from the girl’s neckline and shoulders.   _Even her breath smells sweet_ , she observed.  It broke her heart to see Margaery with eyes closed, heavy breathing, a cut running down the back of her head.

 

But she still asked herself, did she deserve this?  She had denied a person from the safety of their metal doors, and for little reason whatsoever.  Well.  Joffrey was hateful, but was he loathsome enough to be left outside in peril?  Margaery had been selfish, and yet a stranger had shown her nothing but kindness.  Sansa hoped Joffrey would be okay, and prayed harder for Robb to be as well.

 

“You’re lucky, you know”, Dany hummed, “not for what’s going on outside or for what happened to your friend, but because not many people get to be with their family in times of danger.”

 

Arya gazed at Dany and then met Sansa’s blue eyes.  She let a small smile show in her face but quickly let it fall, cheeks burning pink.  Sansa took a second to look at her sister, then smiled at Dany, and went back to brushing Margaery’s hair.  She flattened the crown of curls closest to her face and leaned down to place a small kiss on it.

  
Her kiss tasted of metal as two distant bullets left their barrel and Margaery opened her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> note that i know nothing of medicine or wound cares so i'm basically bs-ing through this so again pls forgive

Arya groaned into her hands, visibly shaken. The gunshots caused Dany to leap back, nearly falling off the bench if not for her leg that twisted and retained her balance.  Sansa just gripped Margaery tighter with each boom, holding on to her as if she were to drift away, away from her and into the eyes of the hungry gun.  Sansa wanted nothing but for Robb to be there, safe with them, as she slept inside the warmth of Margaery.

 

The brunette stirred, eyes open and sight blurry.  She felt snug, as if in a tub full of lukewarm water.  Slightly lifting her head, she soon realized it was a bad idea as an electric hot pain sizzled her cranium. A loud moan escaped her lips, and voices drifted up around her. Dull, faraway voices, speaking faintly of in a language she did not know.

 

And then, boom.

 

It hit her like, well, a bullet. She remembered where she was and what had happened.  All five senses snapped back to normal, worsening the pain that exploded in her lower back skull. Then she heard her name.

 

"…thank God you're awake Margaery!"

 

“Uuuuuuuugh” An inhumane groan escaped her lips, temples still on fire.  Bringing her hand up to her head, she touched asperous fabric. Gauze.

 

Red hair hovered her cheeks, and she lifted her eyes to find Sansa smiling at her.

 

“You hit your head” the Stark told her.  Margaery gingerly lifted herself, fiercely ignoring the pain, to look at their surroundings.

 

“We made it into the locker rooms…”, she noticed.

 

“Not without help.”

 

“Hey, Marg.”

 

Sansa’s sister spoke in a voice that fell familiar to Margaery.  It took the Starks about three minutes to fill in the Tyrell girl with what happened and introduce her to the short Targaryen companion.

 

“Does your head hurt a lot?” Sansa whispered, full of concern.  Margaery blushed and smiled lightly, lying and shaking her head.  That itself sent waves of agony down her skull, reaching her spine.  However, the heat Sansa expelled surrounded her like a cocoon, ebbing some of the pain away.  Margaery’s back lay on Sansa’s legs, her head leaning on the girl’s chest.  Sansa’s hand was on her stomach, burning her, the other on her mass of brown curls.  Fingers on Margaery’s right hand itched, almost reaching out to hold the girl’s hand in her own, out of reflex.  She didn’t, though.

 

The rest was quiet, except for Sansa’s diminute sigh as she rest her chin on the Tyrell girl’s crown, tickling her.  A terrifying realization dawned on Margaery: had Sansa told the girls about Joffrey?  It made her nervous, and incredibly embarrassed. Cheeks reddened at the thought.   _No, Sansa is not like that._  But then again, _Margaery_ wasn’t like that.  She’d never see herself so savage, so heartless.  But I don’t regret it.  No, she didn’t regret it, no matter how hard she tried.  Was putting her and Sansa’s safety first so selfish?  The fear of being heard by the shooter was what made her leave Joffrey outside, aided by the fact that it was Joffrey.  And now she was alive.  Sansa was alive, and unhurt.  A result like this could pardon any act.  Then why was the heavy stone still perched in Margaery’s stomach, weighing her down?

 

Seconds, minutes, perhaps hours transpired in utter silence.  Arya played with the strings of her hoodie with unnatural delight.  Perhaps she was happy because she could play with her hoodie.  Daenerys had pulled out some tied strings from her backpack and began knotting them, revealing it to be a bracelet.  She was halfway done with a red and black one when Margaery noticed the smears of red on Sansa’s clothes.

 

“What’s that?”, she softly asked, pointing at the spot, but she didn’t need to be told.  A hand shape came into view, with red color on the fingers, the palm browning.  It didn’t make Margaery nauseous, but it did shock her.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“But it’s my blood.”

 

“You didn’t ask for this injury, did you?”

 

“Well...how much did this cost?”

 

At this, Sansa remained silent, then muttered quietly that she didn’t remember.

 

“$510”, Arya said, not looking up from her beloved hoodie strings, which she had tied and was now trying to untie.

 

Sansa rolled her eyes and looked at the ceiling while all of Margaery’s blood rushed to her face.

 

“I’ll repay you when this is over.”

 

_If we make it out._

 

An uncomfortable tension filled the spines of the girls, with the untold comment drilled into their minds.  Margaery moved her head and felt something hard on Sansa’s chest.  She blindly reached behind her, carefully and lightly running her fingers over Sansa’s breast until she felt cool metal.  Oh right, she recalled, her bird necklace.

 

_“ALL CLEAR”_

 

The loud yell resonated through the gym, faintly reaching the locker rooms.  Daenerys gasped, Arya’s hoodie strings dropped from her fingers.

 

“Is that the SWAT team?”, Daenerys whispered, still too afraid to talk.

 

_“ALL CLEAR, ALL CLEAR”_

 

Sansa smiled and let out a built up moan leave her sore throat.  Arya ran her fingers through her hair, letting out a lot of air from her lungs.  Margaery covered her mouth with her hands, small tears forming in her eyes.  Their bodies were alive, light as feathers, hot with blood.

 

“I think we can go out now.”  Margaery sat up from Sansa’s comfortable embrace, growing dizzy but not so much as to fall from the bench.  Daenerys grabbed her right arm and let it rest on her shoulders, giving her support.  Like this, all four shuffled out of the locker rooms that felt like it had shrunk a third of its size during their stay.

 

Upon reaching the gym, they heard voices and cries outside, the undeniable crunch of shoes hitting pavement reaching their ears.  Another sound, a police car siren, wailed closely.

 

_So it’s true.  This is over._

 

They all but ran outside, Margaery losing balance quite a lot if not for Dany and Sansa on either side of her.  What happened next was a blur of bodies, of voices, of “Oh my Gods” and “I’m so glad you’re okay”.

 

In no time, they found themselves in front of an ambulance, carefully passing Margaery over to the care of paramedics.  She repeatedly thanked them, showing all the gratitude she had to give.  Sansa held her hand the longest, not letting go until the senior was lifted into the car to be treated.  She stood there, Tyrell blood on her dress, watching them unwrap the gauze and conduct eye tests.

 

That second transpired slowly.  Sansa gazed at the girl who had saved her and who she in turn had saved.  A lightness ran through her chest.  Then she let her eyes drift to the ambulance on the left.

 

Two bodies were being covered with the dreaded black bag all people feared.  A thick corpse, an adult, was already being hauled on the car.  The second body was being zipped, a mass of auburn hair disappearing under the blackness.

 

Sansa’s breath left her body, heart exploding, knees kissing the grass underneath her.

 

The shooter had showered the school with six bullets, six flowers, _six six six_.

 

  
Two bullets had kissed the morning air, and they both were branded with her brother’s name.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short chapter; it's midnight and this is what i could pull up but don't worry, i'll update soon

Three people fell victims to the shooting: Robb Stark, high school senior; Joffrey Baratheon, son of the city’s mayor; and Dontos Hollard, the school janitor.

 

The news reached Margaery at the hospital.  Sansa didn’t even need to be told.

 

Sansa turned to smoke.  She became invisible, hollow, drifting farther and farther away from the ground.  People spoke to her but the blue in her eyes remained the color of pale skin drained from blood.  It was like the coldest ice that froze in the winter,  chilling muscles and marrow with no regret.  Soon, everyone grew afraid of her dead eyes and left her to mourn on her own.

 

All she felt was white and blue, white and blue.  Her body grew transparent with each day, with each time she thought of her brother.  Her _dead_ brother.  Human skin turned to vapor, growing tendrils of smoke, trading blood and bone for fumes.  She sighed, and when she did, a piece of her soul was sucked right out along with the breath, and let loose, flying, going nowhere but up.  White walls, blue sheets.  It made no difference.

 

Soon it was the day of the funeral.  Time was alien to the touch of Sansa Stark.  She’s been catatonic for, what, five weeks?  Two days?  Sixteen years?  Perhaps it had been half a heartbeat.  Not that it bothered her.  She was hardly lucid.

 

Robb’s funeral was crowded, but silent.  Nothing could be heard but the vibration of breathing, blinking, of blood running its course through the body over and over and over again.

 

None of the Starks mentioned that Sansa had to be bathed and dressed and hauled to the cemetery, like a doll.  She was smoke, wandering, unreachable, a smoke the color of winter and frostbite.  Her last act of consciousness was kissing grass with her knees, caressing weeds with her flame-colored hair as the black, black darkness enveloped the shell of her brother.  Ever since, she had either been unresponsive or animalistic.  For example, after her bath, a lean black dress had been grabbed from her bed, smoothed over her arms.  They didn’t go any farther, because Sansa had pushed it off and away from her.  In no time at all, the person dressing her, whoever it was, ended on the floor, with a bruised arm and scratches all over their shoulders, hair ripped out.  The young girl had refused to wear anything but the garments she’d had on before bathing.

 

And that’s how Sansa Stark ended up at her brother’s funeral, wearing a blood-stained blue dress.

 

She never spoke though.  Even as she clawed at the dress, at the darkness trying to eat her up, already her arms in its mouth, she didn’t scream, just whimpered.  A beautiful cold statue, made of marble and copper.

 

The ceremony was chilly, taking place at the cemetery that kissed the edge of the woods.  If the Starks turned around, they’d only see brown, skinny trees and dark green leaves.  No one turned around, though.  All eyes were trained on the dark coffin, swallowing all light at the center of the ceremony, placed next to a fresh wide hole on the ground.

 

Even now, even in her state of disconnection, in her form of smoke, Sansa understood: this was goodbye.  Forever.  The black box would be lowered, lowered, covered, sealed, and gone.

 

And so, Sansa willed herself out of her smoke figure, forcing sighs to become bone, blood, to take the shape of a girl one last time, just one more time.  For Robb, she would become human, and say her farewell to a brother made of flesh in a similar human body.  One step in front of the other, one, two, three, four.  Five and six, six, six.  The icicles in her eyes thawed and she gazed into the casket.

 

Robb was as she’d always remembered him, but more pale and a little bit swollen.  He appeared asleep after having had an allergic reaction.  Copper hair twinkled, much like her own.  She lifted her fingers to run them through the strands but met glass instead.

 

_Shining glass._

_A cold lab, a perfume of rotting flowers._

 

Before her eyes, six wounds sprouted from her brother’s body, and from each wound grew a long flower.  Carnations.  Their petals were red and blue.

 

Red.

 

She froze.  Red sparkled in Robb’s curls.  It was the blood that spilled from his body, when bullets clashed with muscle.  Red danced in her crown of hair, on the hem of her dress, at the back of Margaery’s head.  It spilled down the back of Catelyn Stark.  Red lived in the place where her brother was killed.

 

_Red.  The shooter’s hair was the color red._

 

And Sansa spoke, for the first time since the darkness married her brother.

 

A blood-curdling scream sprang free from her throat, relieved that it was alive at last, and it ran off birds on trees, sent electric shocks down the spines of funeral attendants.  Her scream was the color red, and it danced into the woods.

 

Sansa’s legs moved beneath her, carrying her away, into the darkness of leaves.  Smoke trailed behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from here on out i have no idea what i'm doing

Margaery had witnessed Sansa run into the woods like any other of the funeral guests.  She lay stiff and still in black, watching red hair fly into a forest of green, being frantically followed by some men, uncles, maybe.  Brown eyes hardened and she looked at the ground.  Sansa was found two hours later, once the ceremony was over.  She had curled against the base of a tree, her arms hugging her knees, rocking back and forth as she cried.  An ambulance had been called and she was taken to the hospital.

 

The Tyrell girl hadn’t sleep for days, not since the shooting.  A black guilt ate up her insides whenever she closed her eyes.  They all had Joffrey’s face.

 

_No._

 

She put those thoughts away and smoothed down her shirt.  Margaery stood at the front desk of the city’s hospital, signing in for visiting hours.  She was finally going to see Sansa.

 

She leveled her air intake, breathing in and breathing out slowly.

 

“Room 982”, the lady told her, pointing with two fingers in the direction of the path.  Margaery thanked her and followed the course.  Her slender fingers were clenched together, twisting, like a child’s would when they got caught stealing some dumb cookie.

 

The walls were sterile white and spotless.  Even the air felt cold white.  Margaery's long quiet steps merged with the sound of people whispering and televisions lightly buzzing.

 

Sansa's room was pretty far down the hall, and every step made Margaery's nerves worsen.  Nonetheless, she peered through the window of the room and turned the silver handle.

 

She was greeted by the back of Catelyn Stark, a rainfall of red.  When the mother turned around, she had a better view of Sansa on the bed.  She was turned away, looking at the window.  There was a seemingly useless I. V. drip attached to her arm.  Her eyes remained fixed on the glass.

 

"Hello, Mrs. Stark", she greeted sweetly, spreading a shy smile down her face, tinged it with some innocent blush.  Catelyn was weary, and it showed.  Her eyes were puffed and dark.  Her hair, however, was neat and untangled, but she probably had a well-used comb in the restroom.  Still, Catelyn smiled a tired smile and stood up from her seat to hug Margaery.

 

“Hello, Margaery.  I’m glad you could come”, she said, ending the hug and pushing the girl to arm’s length, "I hope you've been fine."

 

Margaery was glad at the fact she'd asked that as opposed to "How have you been".  That greeting was just not suitable to anyone at the moment.

 

"I have, thank you." _Liar._ "Is it okay if I visit Sansa for a couple minutes?"

 

Catelyn started nodding her head rapidly. "Oh, of course, of course.  How could you not after what you did for her."  A weary side of her lips curved up, and Margaery stood motionless. "I'll give you two some time alone."  The older woman cast a worried glance at her daughter, a deaf and mute statue sitting on white sheets.  Margaery figured Sansa was here being fed antidepressants and morphine, surveillance choking her in fear of her repeating the woods escapade.  Cat smiled at her once more and walked out the door to find entertainment elsewhere.  When the door clicked, Margaery peeked at Sansa and took wary steps toward the bed.  She didn’t stop until she'd circled the bed, the stone in her stomach weighing her down more and more.  Not a word passed her lips until the girl's eyes were at level with hers.

 

"Sansa."

 

It was a plea, a waving white flag.  From now on, their relationship would be a battlefield where Margaery wanted no blood spilled.

 

The statue moved, probably for the first time in a long time.  What Margaery saw chilled her spine, froze her bones.   _Dead blue._

 

The ice in her eyes stirred, changed when they saw the Tyrell _She got Joffrey killed.  But she also saved me._  Sansa stared at Margaery, not sure what to make of her.

 

_Forget her_ , a voice said, _remember what you are, you are smoke, white smoke trailing down the hospital halls and back.  Smoke doesn't take concern to human affairs._

 

The ginger tried, but Margaery's brown eyes slapped her awake, forced and mushed her smoky body into skin and blood and meat.

 

"Hello, little bird."

 

Margaery cast her a smile, small but true.  It wasn't the one she'd shown her mother, or the one she hid behind of when people approached her in concern, always curious, always apologetic, always asking about that cold day in the lab when six flowers fell to the floor.

 

_Little bird_ , Sansa remembered, _because of my necklace._  The pretty accessory was most likely in her room, but it could easily be on the school grass, or on the floor of the hospital, or stained green, deep in the woods near her brother’s resting spot.  Wherever it lay, she didn’t feel like getting it back.  She was a bird no longer, not even a girl.

 

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room like the hug of a mother.  Sansa’s eyes panned over Margaery while in turn the older girl took a step forward and, very tentatively, took a seat on Sansa’s bed, sitting near her legs.  The Stark didn’t coil away, but the closeness made her slightly dizzy.

 

"You scared everyone back there, running into the woods."  Margaery tested the waters, speaking casually, giving no regard to the silence of the Stark.  "And I still can't believe you wore that dress to the event.  It makes me a bit flattered, you know, that you like my blood so much."

 

Margaery wasn't a person who often dwelled with black humor, but after all the things that had happened, there was really no other option.  The darkness seeped everywhere, even in her words.

 

Seeing that the crudeness of her joke caused no change in the hospitalized girl, Margaery instead turned to talking about her day.  She babbled about the weather, and other silly cotidian things.

 

“School has been off since the shooting.  I guess that’s the one good outcome from all this mess.  We were prepping for a final test in fourth period and I was absolutely not ready.”  Margaery took a leap of faith and held Sansa’s hand as she spoke, acting as if though it were nothing, when really, it meant everything.  Sansa’s hand was limp against hers, cold.  It chilled Margaery, so she enveloped the hand with both of her own to warm it.  She kept on talking, pretending like Sansa wasn’t dead next to her.  Dead like her brother.

 

Perhaps, in truth, two Starks died the evening of the shooting.

 

“Have you been watching the news lately?  We made it nationwide.  But besides that, I haven’t been keeping up with television.  I’m very behind on Orphan Black.  Remember when we watched it together at my house?  We were working on the science fair project…And you stayed the night because we’d be up working late.”

 

Margaery’s words softened without her wanting them too.  They grew quieter as she spoke on.  Sansa never talked, but ran her eyes over Margaery; her hands covering her own, the blush on her cheeks, the small but noticeable mark that the gauze had left on the back of her neck, back down to their joined hands.  Margaery’s eyes were cast down as she spoke, looking at Sansa’s hospital tag.

 

“Your favorite character was Alison, and mine was Sarah, so for like half an hour we fooled around, acting like them and saying dumb quotes back at one another.  You even found a hot glue gun in my house and threatened me with it.  It was a fun night.”  Margaery sighed.

 

Sansa wasn’t coming around, and Margaery was losing hope.  It fell away with each stupid sentence she said, never coming close to the real conversation they wanted to have.

 

_But we can’t have it_ , she realized, _I can’t speak to the dead._

 

_I guess the only thing I can do now is apologize.  And say goodbye._

 

Margaery took in a deep breath, leaving the room silent but for her lungs.  Sansa wondered if Margaery’s breath would weld with her smoke figure and become a part of her.

 

“I never…”, she let go of Sansa’s hand, her fingers turning cold, “about what happened.  I’m sorry.”

 

The words echoed in Sansa’s mind. _I’m sorry_.  They repeated over and over, merged, in different voices of women and men and children.   _I heard this before, when I was smoke._ _But I couldn’t hear them because smoke has no ears._  It suddenly seemed foolish to Sansa why people would apologize for something that wasn’t their fault, pestering those who tried to mourn and recover.

 

“Sansa”, Margaery said, in a loud, steady voice, like that of a teacher scorning a student.

 

Blue eyes lifted and met brown.

 

“The memory of Joffrey and how I came to...cause his death...lives in me. But I buried it away.  Far far away where you won't see it.  But it makes no matter because you saw me, unskinned, and I understand why you'd be repulsed by me.”

 

Margaery felt her eyes begin to water and dropped them to Sansa’s hands, ashamed.  That unholy hospital bracelet bore into her sight.

 

“My deepest condolences go to you and your family.  I need you to know...that I don’t want you to hate me, but it is completely reasonable if you do.  I’m _sorry_ for what I did and didn’t do.  So...goodbye.”

 

She didn’t let the tears in her eyes spill, and she debated whether to let the Stark girl see her vulnerable and teary, or to leave the room with pride.  Margaery slowly stood up from the bed, avoiding Sansa’s gaze, and cracked her fingers as she walked to the door.

 

_Goodbye, little bird._

 

A great relief of cleanliness and the terrible dread that comes with each farewell made Margaery tremble visibly.  Her hand shook as she touched the silver handle.

 

“Come back.”

 

An explosion behind her eyes sent shocks down her body, but she remained calm and turned around to meet Sansa’s blue eyes.  The ice had thawed almost completely.

 

“...What?”

 

“Come back”,  Sansa said in a hoarse voice, which can only be described as that of a creature newly born, or in this case, of a dead person who had forced its body to live again. She sat up and moved a little to the right, making a small but decent space next to her on the bed. “There’s a television here.  I’m pretty sure someone around can help us watch the missed episodes of Orphan Black.”

 

Margaery smiled and her spirit soared.


	8. Chapter 8

When Catelyn Stark came back into the room, she almost fainted at the sight of her daughter, moving and talking, sharing a bed with Margaery Tyrell.  It was like she’d slammed into a wall and lost her balance.  Her mouth sat agape.

 

“ _How_?”, she’d asked Margaery, who could only reply with a shrug.  Sansa gave her mother the tiniest of smiles and then focused back on the T. V.  While the episode played, her fingers mindlessly messed with her I. V. tube.  Margaery stretched her legs further until they nearly hung off the side of the white bed.  There was a narrow valley of space separating the girls.  It couldn’t be more than three inches, but to both girls, it stretched as far as a battlefield.  Those tiny inches of space created a membrane, separating them, showing how Sansa wasn’t quite so easy to forgive.  Margaery would have to cross it like a war zone, inch by inch, deliberately winning more and more until the entire land was won.  And then, they hoped, the war would be over.

 

Catelyn Stark hurriedly left the room, pushing numbers on her phone very fast.  Margaery faintly heard the word “Ned” before the mother was too far away to hear.  It then dawned on her that perhaps Sansa hadn't spoken to anyone, not even her family, until that evening.  A small sense of guilt bit at her stomach, but it was overshadowed by the tiniest butterflies flying in her belly.  Because of all the people that surrounded her, it had been Margaery that broke Sansa out of her shell, the person the Stark girl had decided to trust.  Then again, no one but her was at Sansa's side when the incident happened.  No one but her could connect with Sansa at that level.  The concept both gladdened and frightened her.  Did that make her in a sense more responsible for the girl?  Doesn't it depend on her now to heal Sansa?  It made Margaery shudder, and her partner felt it.

 

"Sorry if the room is too cold", the redhead said, "It doesn't bother me, though.  I really like having a cool room.  Otherwise, I usually kick off my blankets and start whining."  She played with a strand of her hair before letting it go and focusing again on the television.  "Arya is the same, too.  Even Bran.  I think it's genetical, to be honest."

 

Margaery tried to pretend like she was looking at the screen and not stealing glances at her.  "Yeah", she began, "My family is very much the same, but it's opposite: we like being warm.  Not too hot, like in the summer, but lukewarm.  Tyrells have an inside joke that our preference to warmth has to do with our incredible hotness.  We can't help it that we're so foxy though."  She smiled a tiny grin.

 

Sansa laughed softly and rubbed her left eye.  The end credits rolled and she hurriedly clicked on the button that would play the next episode.

 

They tried not to talk much while the show played, but it was truly inevitable to remain silent for so long, especially them, who held so much between them that needed to be spoken.  They avoided those subjects though, locking them away in a glass box.  Ultimately, they would have to open that box again, but it didn't have to be today.

 

They talked of tedious things, of cotidian details and conversations.  Favorite colors, most hated animals, what food was good and bad from the school cafeteria.  They learned about one another.  Sansa's favorite color was blue, Margaery's green, and literally no one was surprised.  The Tyrell girl blushed and laughed as she retold the story of how she'd escaped from a suspension from a stupid middle school prank she and some friends pulled on their history teacher.  Orphan Black kept running and they mocked several characters, Sansa showing off her ridiculously bad French accent when pretending to be Delphine.  At one point of time, Margaery almost held Sansa's hand, but immediately recoiled before their skin contacted, afraid of scaring off Sansa by coming on too strong when things were going so well.

 

By the time Margaery noticed the time, it was half an hour past her promised return curfew, and she hadn't even run the errands she was planning on doing.  Her heart skipped a beat when realizing her mother would kill her, fast and horrifically.  She jumped straight on the bed into a sitting position.

 

"Is that the correct time?"

 

"Um, yeah", Sansa told her, sitting up herself to match her guest.  Margaery stood from the bed and ran a hand through her hair.  "Oh, shit."

 

"You have to go?", Sansa asked politely, masking the feeling of a stone falling into her stomach, weighing her down.

 

Margaery started babbling as she gathered her things, repeating apologies and explanations about her mom and the mail and groceries and death.  Sansa found it overall cute and gazed at the senior jumping on one leg, putting on a shoe, while she described exactly how her mother would slowly roast her over a fire.  Sansa had to laugh at that, and Margaery's shoe finally slipped into her foot.

 

The Tyrell girl rapidly leaned into the ginger, hugging her, taking no mind to whether it was right or wrong, if they were permitted to hug already in their trepid relationship.  She sank her nose on sweet-smelling red hair and murmured, "I had a great time."

 

Sansa's voice was thin and low. "You'll come back, right?"

 

Margaery's nerves electrified her body and she pressed Sansa harder to her.  "Yes, of course.  I'll try tomorrow."

 

Sansa quietly palmed her brown curls and then broke the hug.  Margaery saw something in her eyes that she couldn't explain before heading to the door.  She turned one last time and smiled, saying goodbye.

 

Stark returned the smile and the farewell, not sinking down into her bed until the door closed and clicked behind the brunette's silhouette.  She sighed and turned off the television, which was good.  Otherwise, she'd have seen the running news, the recent update on the shooter of the school.  The trial was soon, and people were vehemently preparing to hear the verdict on the murderer of three.  A picture was displayed, same in every channel, in every newspaper.  Red hair, wrinkled forehead, bright blue eyes.  Below it always sat a name, in big bold letters.

 

Lysa Tully.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was planning on making this a long chapter but a) im a slow fuck and b) gianna will surely get a seizure if i don't post this now

Red lives in Robb’s funeral, it dances around a cold graveyard, and it kisses the cheeks of Sansa Stark when she feels Margaery’s lips press to her own.

 

The redness of her cheeks deepens as her heart beats faster.  Sansa’s a bit confused as to what to do now, a clumsy little bird, placing her hands on Margaery’s shoulders, then her cheeks, and finally settling on her neck.  They trembled when passing over the girl’s hot skin.

 

Margaery’s thighs press hard on Sansa’s sides, straddling her, and the Stark girl’s toes curl.  She feels sturdy hands grab her own neck, pulling at her, forcing her closer.  The Tyrell girl smiled into Sansa’s lips before breathing hotly and resuming their kisses.

 

_Life sentence in HM Prison Holloway._

 

These words still echoed in Sansa’s head, but she willed them away, kissing Margaery harder, as if that itself could fend off the noise.

 

______________________________

 

Days earlier, still hospitalized, the ginger heard Margaery’s promised arrival in the form of a compliment to her mother just outside the door.  Her breath quickened and she sat up straighter.

 

Brown hair peeked in.  Margaery smiled at her and waved, one hand stacked with DVD cases.  Amongst the titles, Sansa read _Pirates of the Caribbean_ , _The Princess Bride_ , and _Imagine Me & You_. Sansa smiled.

 

They fell into routine, moving together like swift water.  Margaery would come, bearing movies or shows or magazines, sometimes even game boards, everyday about an hour after school ended.  It was her responsibility to present the activity or distraction of the day.  She devoted herself almost religiously to Sansa, who in turn healed much faster than anyone imagined.  Mourning Robb was for the night now, for her dreams.  She had nightmares, which she didn’t tell Margaery about until after two weeks of visits.  Margaery wasn’t surprised, though.  She’d found many wet stains and rips on Sansa’s pillow often, but she courteously pretended not to.  She just focused on Sansa, on helping her get better, better enough to be checked off the “suicidal” list and let out of the hospital.

 

Margaery Tyrell was Sansa Stark’s medicine.  She soothed, she healed.  People saw what they did as talking and hanging out, though few could see the true roots of their meetings.  They had a tether, pulling them together, willing them to come to the other.  It had been buried in them the day glass shattered and flowers fell.  They had a coping mechanism, which was growing closer and closer together, never speaking about what truly ached to be spoken about, with the lingering promise to have those conversations in the future.  They were too strong, too raw to be carried out in public, with one of them attached to a bed and an I. V. tube.

 

There were times, though, of course, when even Margaery couldn’t keep Sansa rooted.  Margaery would try to catch those blue eyes, only to find them wide, blank, far away in a cold lab, in the place where red lived.  A marble statue, copper in her hair, once again.  Thoughts of Robb, Lysa, and Joffrey would bubble under the surface of her stare, floating behind the blue ice wall.  She realized then that there was an ice wall inside her, frighteningly cold and tall.  She stood sentinel over it, wearing black, seeing red.  It kept people below her, away, safe from the deep well of sorrow that she carried.  Someone was climbing the wall-

 

And she was shaken awake, warm hands pressing on her arms. “ _Sansa_.”

 

She blinked many times and clasped the wrist on her right arm.  Disorientation blurred her eyesight, but it quickly faded and she found large brown eyes deep with concern.

 

“You were gone there for a second.  More than a second.  You haven’t moved in minutes” Margaery said with concern.  She wasn't scolding her, but for a moment she wanted to, until she regained her senses.   _Don’t scold the girl who’s aunt murdered her brother_.

 

Sansa didn’t know what to say, or do, so all she managed out was a small “I’m sorry.”

 

Margaery frowned and looked into Sansa’s eyes.  She saw warmth, but also a thin film, a wall of ice still blocking her outside.  It shattered her.  “There’s nothing to be sorry for”, she replied, and took the ginger into her arms.  She didn’t let go for five minutes, until Sansa stopped crying.

 

Margaery kissed Sansa’s cheek before she left that day.  She didn’t know whether to detest the hospital’s visiting hours for not giving her more time or if Sansa did need time alone to get herself back together.  The decision was made for her and she was shown the door.

 

It was her third week of institutionalization.  Sansa was told the news after Margaery left the room.

 

She would be able to go home soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sidenote: do i look like i give a damn that lena headey appears in imagine me and you while simultaneously being cersei in this universe? the answer is a tremendous no)


	10. Chapter 10

"Watch your step" Margaery told her.

 

“I know the way around my house, Marg” Sansa replied, taking her companion’s hand into her own.  It felt hot against her own coldness.   _Tyrell blood runs warm_ , Margaery used to joke.  Less of a joke than an understatement, truly.  Margaery was always warm.

 

Sansa’s home was unlike many of the people.  His father had a special place in the mayor’s social circle, and he was a part of the city’s counsel as well, always with a tinge of hope that when Robert Baratheon retired from his job, Ned Stark would be elected in his place.  Such a large output of power and money was flowed into the house the Starks lived in.  It was wide, tall, three stories high and cold.

 

Margaery stood back as the Starks greeted Sansa back, embracing the girl fiercely and telling her of all she had missed.  For half a heartbeat, Margaery had expected Robb to come downstairs with the others to welcome his sister back.  A large hole in her chest filled her with emptiness.  She wore her smile bright and kind, concealing the crumbling human behind it.

 

When all was said and done, Sansa held her mother back at arm’s length.  “I’d like to go back to my room.  I have a strange feeling some of you redecorated it for you own purposes.”  She lashed them a smile.

 

Catelyn nodded, “Yes, yes, of course, your room!  You two go on up, I’ll make some food for you while you get settled.  You must be so hungry…”

 

Ned hugged his wife, a small gesture with high sentiment.  Margaery turned, followed Sansa up the stairs, and was careful to not mention or ask which one of the doors marked Robb’s room.  His _old_ room.

 

Kicking off her shoes, Sansa wasted no time in getting comfortable.  It was very rapid, the way she unboxed the things she’d taken to the hospital and placed them in their spot, turned on the television, stretched on her bed, and told Margaery to join her.  The truth was, she wanted to pretend like nothing had happened.  Push it to the back of her mind.  If she just laid here, on her bed, like before, it would all be alright.  Margaery would put on a movie for them to watch, curl of beside her, then maybe paint their nails and talk about bands.  Yes, that would make her happy, it would make her forget.

 

Down the hall, on the third door to the left, Robb’s bedroom door taunted her, clutched her chest and twisted.

 

Sansa buried that deep down, ignoring the pain.

 

“So...what movie did you bring?”

 

______________________________

 

The trial began a week and a half after Sansa’s release.  For the sake of her health, she avoided it at all costs.  Sansa lay in her bed, at night, willing those thoughts away as downstairs, the television fuzzed.  Her parents never watched the trial updates in front of them.  In the dark of night, they creeped to the television, turned on their computers, not realizing their children knew and pretended not to.  It was the same each night, with the television whispering truths Sansa was not yet ready to face.  She saw enough of her aunt’s red hair and dead eyes in nightmares.

 

Margaery’s kindness was unfailing.  She attended school, now heavily secured with guards and checkpoints, because it was her duty as a minor.  Walking those halls was different now, and she dropped out of science class her first day back.  She even avoided going into the building.  Once class was done, she’d run back home and freshen up, then go to Sansa’s.

 

It was a new routine, identical to that of the hospital but with a change of setting.  It was harder now, though.  They both knew it.  With a ghost’s empty bedroom down the hall and ginger hair in every news channel following the trial, it became almost a challenge to avoid hitting a nerve.

 

It worked, however, for both of them.  They clung to one another.

 

“J. K. Rowling is writing another Harry Potter book, did you know that?”

 

Sansa looked up from her toenails, half of them orange.  “I thought Lord Voldemort was dead already.”

 

“He is,”  Margaery replied in between bites of a poptart Catelyn had brought her.  “This is a spin-off, or a prequel, if you might.  It’s a different protagonist, but the same universe.  Get it?”

 

“Uh, I’m not very fond of spin-offs,”  Sansa told her.  “I feel like when a series is done, it’s done.  Why the need to milk it?”

 

“Don’t you want to know more about magic world?  I know I do.  There’s tons of questions I’d ask the author.”  Margaery pushed back a strand of hair behind her ear.  “Like, why didn’t Voldemort’s piece of soul die when Harry was bitten by the Basilisk?  And how exactly can a twenty pound owl deliver things like broomsticks and big packages to kids?”  She looked back at the ginger.  “What would you ask her?”

 

“I, uh…” Sansa trailed off, grabbing a magazine and pretended to leaf through it.

 

“...Sansa?”

 

“I um...I might have not...exactly read...the books.  At all.”

 

She buried her face into the magazine, red hair clogging her face from seeing the actual words.  She used it as a curtain to conceal her shame.

 

It made no help in stopping the sandal from hitting her face.

 

“ _What???_ ” Margaery all but yelled.  “ _WHAT?? SANSA MARIE STARK._ ”

 

“ _How do you know my middle name??_ ”

 

“ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU, A CONSCIOUS SIXTEEN YEAR OLD, WENT TO THE HARRY POTTER MOVIES _WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS_?”

 

“UM”

 

Margaery flinged a pillow at her face.  Sansa tried to block it but instead managed to hit herself in the face.  She burst into laughter at the stupidity of her moves and the cute nerdy anger that was taking over Margaery.

 

“You are unreal.”

 

“I am very real, for your information,” she laughed as she dusted off poptart crumbs that had fallen on her shirt.  “In my defense, I never had time to read the books.  My grades were unsteady and I was reading Lord of the Rings.”

 

“Oh my _God_ ” Margaery had to cover her face.  To add drama, she fell to the ground.  “Oh my _God_ , I’ve been hanging out with a complete lunatic for an entire month.”

 

“Caring about my grades and intellect is not lunacy.”

 

“It is when you chose Lord of the Rings over Harry freaking Potter.”

 

Margaery barreled Sansa the next two days until at last she gave in and checked out the Philosopher’s Stone from the public library.

 

In the dark, the television fuzzed.

 


End file.
